Page 73 of One and Only

Greer shifted in her sleep, emitting a soft, breathy noise.

I clenched my jaw, beginning the slow, incremental movement out from underneath her arm without waking her. Rolling to my stomach felt like it took an hour, but it was probably closer to a couple of minutes, and even though she didn’t wake, she didn’t roll with me, her hand still sat on my back.

She twitched again, and when the edge of her fingernail scraped delicately over my skin, I actually pressed my hips into the mattress to seek any sort of relief from the building pressure.

The pillow under my face muffled the tortured groan, and only a few moments passed before Greer inhaled, then turned onto her back, her hand sliding off my body without inflicting further damage.

I exhaled in relief.

And when she rolled again, her back facing me now, I could finally relax.

It took reciting multiplication tables until my body was under control, and just as my body started succumbing to sleep, I heard the quick patter of Olive’s feet coming down the steps.

I sat up, rubbing my face.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

Olive had never liked the bottom of the stairs, the darkness always scared her, so we’d started keeping a night-light plugged in just beyond the last step.

It wasn’t normal for her to wake up in the middle of the night, but we’d done it just enough times that I knew she wouldn’t leave the stairs on her own.

“I’m up,” I said. Greer stirred, murmuring something unintelligible as I found Olive on the bottom step, trying to peer around the corner.

When I swung her up in my arms, she buried her face into the side of my neck, sniffling quietly and taking sharp, shuddering breaths.

“Deep breaths for me, okay, sweet pea?” I said, smoothing my hand on her back in circles. “I’m right here.”

Greer was sitting up in bed, watching us with bleary eyes.

With Olive clinging tightly to my chest, I sat against the headboard and rubbed her back while her breathing slowed incrementally, the tension seeping out of her body.

“Do you want to talk about your bad dream?” I asked her.

Sometimes she did, and other times she didn’t.

“Not yet.” She sniffled.

Greer mimicked my posture, positioning her pillow on her lap while she braced her back against the headboard and watched us quietly. She gave me a sleepy smile, and the sight of it triggered a reaction somewhere deep under my ribs.

It was different from earlier, with her hand on my skin. This was warm and slow, something that lingered and took its time to roll through my body.

Even with my daughter in the bed with us, sharing this kind of moment with her was strangely intimate. A different kind than coloring the night before. Or having her study our bedtime routine and eat with us for dinner.

After a few minutes, Olive’s breathing slowed, and her body went lax.

She had fallen back asleep.

I didn’t ease her onto the mattress immediately. I took a moment to breathe in her sweet scent and memorize her slight weight in my arms. Every year she got older, these moments felt increasingly fleeting.

But we all needed sleep. I kissed the top of her head, then met Greer’s gaze in the darkened room. “Can you grab an extra pillow?” I said quietly.

She nodded, climbing out of bed to snag one from the pile on the floor. Her legs were bare again, the hem of her dark-colored sleep shorts disappearing underneath the edge of her long shirt, and I tore my gaze away when she sat on her knees to shift her pillow to the side and make room for another.

Turning onto one hip, I was able to move Olive onto the bed without waking her, and she immediately curled onto her side, tucking her face into the pillow.

I blew out a slow breath.

“Poor thing,” Greer murmured. Gently, she pushed some stray hairs out of Olive’s sleeping face. “I used to get nightmares at this age too. I always wanted to climb in bed with my mom and Tim.”

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